


salvation in suffering

by mundaneanarchy



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Riding, Roleplay, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundaneanarchy/pseuds/mundaneanarchy
Summary: mr. robot finds out elliot has something of a daddy kink. it's a real shock to the system, i know.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i got really high last night and........i don't know lol. just pretend this exists in a world where mr. robot is a real person and not elliot's dad (but is his daddy?). i don't know. it just seems like something of a crime that two people as hot as christian slater and rami malek can exist in a show together and i can't picture them making out together. i'm just obsessed with this pairing for some reason. listen, you know what, if you're reading this, i don't owe you any explanations. you already know why you're here. just promise me that if i do write anything of note not to tell anyone this was one of my earlier works.

Elliot’s favorite thing about sleeping in the same bed with Mr. Robot is waking up before him if only for the exquisite opportunity of watching him sleep. It rarely happens, as Mr. Robot sleeps odd hours, usually when Elliot is gone, so when it does, Elliot can’t help but watch. He’s beautiful like this, with his mouth slightly agape and his naked chest rising and falling ever so peacefully. His hair is messy and untouched, without the safety net of his beat-up old baseball cap to smooth it down. Elliot shifts and Mr. Robot lifts his arms, groaning as he stretches in the sunlight. Elliot holds his breath, hoping to save the moment just a little longer, but to no avail. Mr. Robot blinks a few times and squints up at him, smiling lopsidedly. Elliot smiles back. Maybe consciousness isn’t so bad after all.

“You do know it’s impolite to stare, don’t you, kiddo?” Mr. Robot’s big hands slide over Elliot’s hips, pulling him closer and tangling their legs together.

“Sorry,” Elliot whispers, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Don’t apologize, kid. I’m just messing with you.” Mr. Robot noses at his cheek, their breaths intermingling together. He knows it should be gross but it tastes sweet against Elliot’s tongue.

“I have work today,” Elliot says softly.

“No,” Mr. Robot stretches out the word in a long groan. It makes Elliot’s stomach feel warm inside. “No, no you don’t. You have to stay here in bed with me all day. Keep me warm. Stare at me with those big bug eyes of yours.”

“I haven’t been in almost a week,” Elliot says. “Gideon’s left me three voicemails in the last day alone. I’m surprised Angela hasn’t shown up at my door yet.”

“Let ‘em worry,” Mr. Robot growls, his hand threading through Elliot’s hair. “I don’t wanna share you just yet, kiddo. I want you all to myself.”

“I have to go,” he apologizes. When he tries to pull himself from Mr. Robot’s hold, his fingers tighten on Elliot’s scalp and he pulls. Elliot whines and lets himself be dragged against Mr. Robot’s warm, solid chest.

“You have a little time,” Mr. Robot says. “Don’t you?”

Elliot nods frantically, his eyes blown wide and his lips parted sweetly. “A little.”

“Then what’s your rush?” Mr. Robot asks and pulls him in for a kiss, a gentle juxtaposition to the harshness he’d dealt Elliot only a moment before. “Stay with me, kiddo. Just a little longer.” Elliot makes an indecisive sound, to which Mr. Robot pulls his hair again, harder this time. “What was that?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” The words tumble out of Elliot’s mouth before he can catch them and he freezes the second he realizes what he’s said. He stares up at Mr. Robot, who seems to be at a similar loss for words.

Mr. Robot runs a thumb against the back of Elliot’s neck. It’s soothing. Elliot shrinks next to him. He doesn’t deserve this.

“Say that again,” Mr. Robot says, so softly Elliot can barely hear him.

After a beat, Elliot reaches his fingers out hesitantly to touch Mr. Robot’s jaw. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Mr. Robot’s lips come crashing down against his so hard Elliot’s sure he must have left a bruise. The hand that’s not wrapped around Elliot’s short hair comes to circle around his waist and press their bodies fully together. Elliot can feel Mr. Robot’s hardness against his hip, and he gasps at the sensation. Even after minimal touching, he can feel that it’s rock hard and throbbing against him. Mr. Robot grinds against him, stimulating Elliot’s own neglected cock. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen Mr. Robot this desperate.

“Please,” Elliot begs when they finally pull apart for air. He feels lightheaded and he’s not even sure what he’s asking for.

“Please what, kid?” Mr. Robot searches his eyes. His hand is still rough and insistent against the base of his skull. It’s a soothing, grounding feeling. Mr. Robot has that unique ability to pull Elliot back to earth again, every time.

“Please…please touch me,” Elliot whimpers, hesitating before his tongue trips over the next word, “Da-Daddy.”

Mr. Robot’s teeth grind together and he hides his face in Elliot’s neck, sucking hard against the flesh there. His hand disappears beneath the tight boxer briefs Elliot wears to bed. Elliot moans as Mr. Robot strokes him.

“Show me you want it,” Mr. Robot says against the soft skin of Elliot’s neck.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…” Elliot mumbles to himself, like a personal prayer.

“Yes, what, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Elliot cries, and it scares him so easily it falls from his lips. He comes not long after in Mr. Robot’s hand, still whining and careening against him.

“God, Elliot, you are so good for me. My good boy.” He brings his coated fingers up to Elliot’s mouth, watching as his lips wrap around him. The suction feels amazing against his fingers and he groans. Elliot maintains eye contact with him, his satiated gaze soaking into Mr. Robot’s ego.

Elliot’s hooded eyes fall to Mr. Robot’s lap, where he sees him still straining painfully through his underwear. He starts to move down to accommodate him, but Mr. Robot’s grip on his hair pulls him back up. He shakes his head at Elliot.

“Kiddo, you don’t have to. You’re gonna be late for work.”

“I can be quick, Daddy,” Elliot says, maintaining fierce eye contact with him. Mr. Robot’s jaw drops slightly and he releases his hold on Elliot as if on command. Elliot pushes him onto his back and slides down his torso. He wastes no time pressing his mouth against the outline of Mr. Robot’s dick in his underwear. Mr. Robot swears and throws his forearm over his eyes.

“You’re killing me, smalls,” he groans as Elliot licks at the head, teasing him through the fabric. Finally, sick of foreplay, Elliot pulls him out through the seam in his underwear. He can feel Mr. Robot’s lustful eyes on him as he swallows down over him, and, with a spark of inspiration from his new role, he reaches up to pull at Mr. Robot’s hand and tangle it in his own hair. Mr. Robot moans again and wrenches at Elliot’s hair. Elliot cries out, his mouth vibrating around Mr. Robot’s dick.

Sure enough, Mr. Robot comes down his throat in a matter of minutes. When Elliot sits up, wiping at his mouth, Mr. Robot looks spent. He looks even more peaceful than he did when he was sleeping.

“You’re amazing, kiddo,” he says with that scratchy voice, his hand lifting to brush at Elliot’s cheek. “You’re everything.”

Elliot smiles back, his hands on his knees. “I like you, too.”

He’s twenty minutes late to work, and he’s glowing. No one says anything about it.

…

Mr. Robot spend the rest of the day in a cloud.

He gets antsy just being left alone all day in Elliot’s apartment, so he decides to take a walk around. He likes to sit at the park and watch people as they pass by. He makes conversation with local business owners. He picks up some groceries to fill Elliot’s empty fridge. He thinks of Elliot, mostly.

He never thought he’d be one of those guys that sat on the couch and had to keep himself from watching the clock. He sits at Elliot’s computer and writes out some code, just simple stuff to keep his mind at bay. Anything to keep his eyes off the clock. He’s not waiting for anything but himself.

When he hears the door open, he has to physically restrain himself to running to Elliot like some sort of lovesick puppy. He pushes down the excitement in his stomach and pretends like he hasn’t heard anything.

Elliot ambles over to his desk and peers over Mr. Robot’s shoulder.

“You code?” Elliot asks.

“When I have the time,” Mr. Robot answers nonchalantly.

“Would’ve been nice to know all those nights when you were making me do all the work.”

“You’re just so good at it,” Mr. Robot grins and swivels around in the chair, pulling Elliot into his lap. Elliot tries to hide how flustered he gets, but Mr. Robot soaks it in like the egomaniac he is. “It’d be like telling Michelangelo to take a break while one of the interns takes a turn painting the ceiling. It’d be a crime in itself.” He cradles Elliot’s jaw with one hand, smoothing his thumb over his bottom lip. “Besides. You know I like to watch.”

Elliot flushes a beautiful pink and all Mr. Robot wants to do is bottle it and paint the walls with it. God, when did he get into all this sappy crap?

Elliot’s still smiling when he gets up and walks to the kitchen. Mr. Robot throws an arm over the back of the chair and watches him.

“You hungry? I skipped lunch today.”

“Elliot,” Mr. Robot sighs. “What have I told you about skipping meals?”

“I’ll eat a big dinner,” Elliot promises him, digging an old menu out of one of his empty drawers. “I was thinking about ordering delivery. Thai sound okay?”

“Actually,” Mr. Robot stands up and follows him to the fridge. “I picked up some groceries. Thought I’d make dinner.”

“What is it with you and cooking?”

“I like it. And I’m good at it. You should try it sometime, kid, before you die of MSG overdose.”

“You can’t overdose on MSG,” Elliot mumbles to himself. “I should know.”

“Yeah, well, you know what, smart guy? I’m just gonna make you a really great meal and you’re gonna have to live with that.”

Elliot smiles and pulls Mr. Robot close by his open flannel to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mr. Robot smiles against his lips. Elliot starts to pull away, but Mr. Robot draws him back in with a fist in Elliot’s unbuttoned collared shirt. “Hey.” He kisses him again, rougher this time. “Change out of this fucking monkey suit, will ya?”

Elliot grins up at him and hikes his hoodie up around his shoulders. “Okay.”

…

Elliot won’t stop looking at him, twirling his fork around his spaghetti and taking absent-minded bites every now and then.

“Kid, if I gotta remind you to eat one more time, I’m just gonna go straight to shoving the food directly down that gullet of yours.”

Elliot grins at him and sneaks his foot to nudge at Mr. Robot’s under the table. “You know, if you wanna put your fingers in my mouth, all you have to do is say so.”

“Do you ever take a goddamn breather? Jesus Christ,” Mr. Robot swears to hide the rush of blood flooding to his dick. He doesn’t move his foot. “Eat something. I’m not kidding. You’re getting too easy to throw around.”

Elliot slides down in his chair and slides his foot up along Mr. Robot’s calf. “But you know I like it when you throw me around,” he pouts his lips before delivering the final blow: “Daddy.”

Mr. Robot’s fork freezes over his plate. He breathes in deep through his nose, never lifting his gaze. He stabs his fork into the plate and says in a strict voice, “Elliot, if you don’t finish every last morsel on that plate of yours, I’ll send you straight to bed without any dessert.”

Elliot’s heart thumps excitedly in his chest. His hands shake around his fork. “What’s for dessert, Daddy?”

Mr. Robot looks Elliot in the eye, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Finish your dinner and I’ll show you.”

They eat in a frantic silence that rings through Elliot’s ears with every bite. He doesn’t even taste the food and before he knows it his plate is empty, streaked only by the remainders of marinara sauce. He looks up to see that Mr. Robot’s plate is clean, too, and he’s been watching him mindfully while he ate. He starts to slide his plate over to present it to Mr. Robot, but he cuts him off with the harsh bark of his words.

“Does that look clean to you, Elliot?” Mr. Robot asks. “Such a messy boy. I work so hard for you, I make you this nice dinner, and you repay me with a messy dish? I know you don’t intend on me doing dishes tonight, otherwise who knows if we’ll have time for dessert at all. Is that what you want?”

Elliot shakes his head and fights hard to repress an ecstatic grin. He should not be so excited by this. He doesn’t know what’s better, berating or praise. He takes them both in equal measure.

“Then be a good little boy and help Daddy out by licking your plate clean.”

Elliot feels his cock swell after hearing the new word in Mr. Robot’s mouth. He lifts the plate to his lips and eagerly cleans it, sparing no opportunity for lewdness. He looks up and locks eyes with Mr. Robot as he employs his tongue to expertly lap up every bit of sauce. Mr. Robot stares at him with a satiated smile. When he’s done, he presents the plate to Mr. Robot proudly.

“God, you are so good with that tongue of yours. Who taught you to be so good?” Mr. Robot stands from the table and Elliot watches intently as he crosses over and crouches down to Elliot’s level. His whole body is shaking with anticipation when Mr. Robot picks up the napkin and wipes off remnants of sauce around his mouth. “Dirty boy,” he whispers, and Elliot whines in the back of his throat.

“You want dessert now?” Mr. Robot asks softly, and Elliot nods almost too exuberantly. “Really? You think you deserve it?” Elliot nods again and Mr. Robot’s hand comes to wrap around his throat. He applies pressure and Elliot whines again, his vocal cords vibrating against Mr. Robot’s fingers. “Beg me for it,” Mr. Robot says harshly through gritted teeth.

Elliot’s hands come to rest on Mr. Robot’s hand. He strokes the rough skin there and says with a raspy voice, “Please, Daddy. Please. I’ll be so good for you, so good, please let me be good for you, Daddy. I’ll do anything.”

Mr. Robot brings his other hand up to stroke at Elliot’s sharp cheekbone. His thumb moves over to Elliot’s mouth. Elliot’s tongue instinctively flicks out to lick at the pad of it. Mr. Robot watches hungrily.

“Good boy,” he says, releasing his tight hold on Elliot’s throat and standing up. Elliot gasps, his breathing a little harsher. God, he loves the danger of it all.

“Take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed.” Mr. Robot says, tearing off the flannel from his shoulders and placing it on the chair next to Elliot’s. He starts to head to the bathroom, but pauses in the doorway. “Elliot, from now on, when I tell you to do something, you will respond to me in the affirmative.”

“Yes, Daddy,” he answers quietly.

Mr. Robot grins to himself before closing the bathroom door. “Good boy.”

When Mr. Robot emerges from the bathroom door Elliot is waiting patiently on the bed for him. His knees are pulled together and his face looks flushed. Mr. Robot saunters over with a smirk.

“No covers?” he teases. “Aren’t you cold?”

“I was waiting for you to tuck me in,” Elliot replies and smiles tauntingly up at him. His knees fall apart and he bites at his index finger like a little tease. Mr. Robot kneels on the bed and slides between his legs. The underside of Elliot’s hard cock rubs against the soft cotton of Mr. Robot’s tee shirt and he hisses and throws his head back. Mr. Robot takes advantage of the angle to press kisses up and down Elliot’s neck.

“God, you have just been so good for me today,” Mr. Robot says against Elliot’s throat.

“Good enough for dessert?” Elliot asks tentatively.

Mr. Robot lifts his head to look at Elliot. He’d gotten so caught up in the excitement he’d nearly forgotten all about their little game. “I think so,” he says, his hands skirting up and down Elliot’s sides in a way that sends shivers down his spine. “For dessert, you get to choose how I get you off.” He moves closer to Elliot’s face so he can feel Mr. Robot’s hot breath on his skin. “How do you want it, huh, kiddo? You want my hands? My mouth?” He moves in closer and he can feel Elliot shuddering against him. He grins against his skin and bites his neck playfully. “You want me to fuck you?” Elliot lets out a needy whine at that and Mr. Robot’s grin widens. He presses his thumbs into Elliot’s hips and looms over him. “Look at that, I think we have a winner. Is that what you want, huh? You want Daddy’s cock inside you, turning you inside out, making you come apart?” Elliot whines and nods. Mr. Robot’s hand comes up to pull at Elliot’s hair. “Say it out loud.”

“Yes, Daddy, please, I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me. I need your cock inside me, I need you to get me off.”

Mr. Robot sits up and kneels over Elliot. “Get up and undress me.”

Elliot sits up and strips Mr. Robot of his tee shirt, pressing his hands against his naked chest and moving in to kiss his neck. His hands slide down to the growing bulge in Mr. Robot’s jeans and he bites his lip with excitement. With shaking hands, he slowly undoes Mr. Robot’s belt buckle and zipper as Mr. Robot slides his hands up Elliot’s shoulders to rest on his neck and watches him intently. Mr. Robot pulls him close to kiss him after wrestling his jeans and boxers off. When he pulls away, Elliot follows his lips in search for further contact and Mr. Robot smiles at him before lying down on the bed. He rests one arm behind his head and pats his hip.

“On top, Elliot.”

Elliot wastes no time climbing over him to straddle his lap. Their cocks brush together and Elliot moans and pushes his hips forward again, chasing the sweet friction. Mr. Robot uses both hands to grab at his waist and still him.

“Open yourself up.”

Elliot frowns and looks down at Mr. Robot. “Won’t you do it?” he pouts and rolls his hips. “Please?”

“Next time,” Mr. Robot says. “This time, I wanna watch.”

Elliot’s been so good all night, so unlike himself, so lost in the role. He sinks so easily into it that it verges on impressive; shocking, even. He’s flinched less when Mr. Robot reaches out to him and managed more eye contact than usual. Mr. Robot thinks that he might be worried about the simplistic ease of his change in demeanor if he weren’t so fucking turned on.

He watches with a deep fascination as Elliot moves in close, sucking his own fingers far down his throat. He makes loud, pornographic sounds; sounds Mr. Robot reasons he must have only heard in porn itself, or maybe even from that little number across the hall. He’s seen the way she looks at Elliot, in the late hours of the night, when they’re back from an all-nighter at the arcade and Elliot is trying to rush Mr. Robot past as he hears her knob turning. There’s always a low bass thrumming from the hinges of her door, and her voice seems to be consistently raspy. He’s seen the way she leans in the doorway and makes moon eyes at him and pouts her lip out so Elliot will give her what she wants. He’s not unfamiliar with the tactic. It hasn’t failed him yet.

But now, his favorite part: getting to watch the walls come down. Elliot presses the first finger in, after long, slow massaging against his entrance. His eyes fall shut and his jaw drops as he lets out a light, breathy gasp. The coy façade shielding his face evaporates and all Mr. Robot can see is his sweet desperation. It’s like a fucking curtain’s been dropped.

Elliot braces a hand on the pillow above his head and their foreheads come together clumsily. Mr. Robot’s lips brush up against Elliot’s and he can taste every needy whine that escapes from those pink, swollen lips. He loves him like this, he decides. Open and vulnerable. Like he is when he’s not worried about getting in the heads of everyone around him. Just himself. Just Elliot.

He keeps a tight grip on Elliot’s waste, being sure to keep his crotch hovering just far enough that his eager cock stays neglected. He knows from past experiences that Elliot’s rather sensitive after too many years of depriving himself of pleasure. He wouldn’t last more than a few strokes if given the delicious pressure of Mr. Robot’s thigh. Usually, Mr. Robot wouldn’t mind seeing Elliot, debauched and stripped of insecurity, rutting against Mr. Robot like the wanton little temptress he is. But tonight, the freshness of new territory excites him. He has plans for tonight.

(Besides, they both know that all Elliot would have to do was cry out two very simple syllables on the verge of his climax and the events of the night would come to a very mutual ending.)

Elliot whines from the back of his throat; a meek, pleading thing that sounds like it comes from somewhere in his gut. Mr. Robot sneaks one hand over to his backside to grab a tight hold and spread him. Elliot moans again, and his hips jerk forward but Mr. Robot catches him.

When he adds a third finger, his breathing becomes ragged and hitched. Mr. Robot’s thumb strokes the curve of Elliot’s ass and he shifts his head so that his mouth brushes at the shell of his ear. Elliot shivers against him.

“So good,” Mr. Robot whispers, giving his ass a light, but solid, smack. “So good for me. My good boy. How’d you get to be so good, Elliot? Huh?” He digs his blunt nails into Elliot’s ass. Elliot moans and his hips make sharp, involuntary moments, seeking release. “You gonna answer me, kid?”

“I don’t know, Daddy,” Elliot sobs. His voice is quiet now. Mr. Robot sucks in a quick breath. It still feels so raw.

“You good and stretched for me, kiddo?”

“Yes, yes, Daddy, yes,” he mumbles, his lower lip shaking. Mr. Robot raises a hand to Elliot’s cheek and lifts his face up.

“Open your eyes for me.”

Elliot blinks his eyes open, the beginnings of tears painting his lashes. Mr. Robot wants to lick them away.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he whispers.

A few stray tears stain Elliot’s cheeks, and it reminds Mr. Robot of a picture he saw in the window of a church once. A stained-glass window. The Virgin Mary, with tears like jewels tattooed on her visage. He’d stared at that window for hours, once, coming down from something hard with a street name that probably doesn’t exist anymore. There was no title for the picture; Mr. Robot’s not sure if those things usually have titles. He named it in his head: _Salvation in Suffering_.

“Please,” Elliot says, his tone so faint it just barely snaps Mr. Robot out of it. Is that what it’s like for Elliot, he wonders? Just falling in and out of reality?

“Get the lube for me, kiddo,” Mr. Robot asks gently. Elliot withdraws his hand with a wince and fumbles for the bottle of lube strewn somewhere beside his bed. He slathers a generous amount on his shaking hands and slicks up Mr. Robot’s straining cock. Elliot makes hasty work of his hands, but all Mr. Robot can focus on is the pure concentration on Elliot’s face. He chews on his lower lip as he hones in on a slow rhythm he knows Mr. Robot will like. Mr. Robot’s fingers reach out and slide along Elliot’s thigh. Elliot catches his eye and smiles shyly and Mr. Robot flashes back a lewd grin.

His hands come to grip the top of Elliot’s thighs where his leg meets his ass. He lifts him up and balances him over the head of his cock. Elliot’s angles himself to arch into the push. Mr. Robot slides in slowly, careful not to go too rough too quickly. Elliot sinks down with a quiet determination and when he’s fully seated his mouth is open so wide Mr. Robot’s afraid he might drool on his chest.

Mr. Robot lets him sit for a few seconds and get used to the sensation before disturbing the peace. “Move your hips for me, kid.”

“Okay, Daddy,” he breathes out, sliding a hand into his own hair and pulling as he rolls his hips in slow, tantalizing movements.

Mr. Robot’s hands slide up to tease Elliot’s sensitive nipple. “Faster, babe. Bounce on it.”

Elliot nods and makes a low, guttural sound that Mr. Robot thinks is meant to resemble an acquiescence. He lifts his hips and lets Mr. Robot’s cock push in and out of him, in and out. The hand wrapped in his hair pulls and his free hand comes to tangle Mr. Robot’s fingers in his. Mr. Robot watches his face as he fucks himself relentlessly on his cock. His eyes land on Elliot’s lips, plush and slick with drool. He can’t help but brush his uncaptured fingers against Elliot’s mouth, pressing his calloused digits against the boy’s starved tongue. Elliot moans around the fingers and sucks hard. He feels their tips brush the back of his throat and he likes this, this feeling of being filled by a piece of Mr. Robot in both ends. He feels like someone else’s property. It doesn’t feel like he’d always thought it would. It feels good. It feels right, almost.

“Good boy. Fucking yourself so good for me on Daddy’s cock. Making Daddy feel so fucking good. Looking so fucking sexy for me. Fuck.” He wants to shut his eyes so bad but he won’t let himself, can’t let himself blink if it means missing a second of Elliot like this, stretched so pliantly around him. He cries out against Mr. Robot’s fingers and begs for more, more of anything he’ll give him. Mr. Robot angles his hips to meet Elliot’s movements and fuck into him more rapidly. Elliot’s scream is muffled by Mr. Robot’s thick fingers penetrating his mouth.

“Daddy, fuck, please,” Elliot begs, his words almost incomprehensible around Mr. Robot’s fingers. Mr. Robot pulls them out and drags Elliot forward to kiss him. The angle is better for Elliot to fall against him, muttering gibberish against Mr. Robot’s lips. Mr. Robot fucks him senseless, pistoling his hips forward and wrapping his wet hand around Elliot’s aching cock. Elliot babbles obsessively, like a prayer. “Oh, fuck, fuck, Daddy, yes, fuck, fuck me, yes, you fuck me so good, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, yes, _God_ , fucking, _ye-es_.”

Mr. Robot kisses Elliot again just to shut him up as he pulls the orgasm from his weeping cock. He covers both of their chests in Elliot’s come, stroking Elliot through the aftershocks. He starts to withdraw himself, but Elliot’s hand stills his hips. Mr. Robot can see him shaking his head faintly.

“You didn’t finish,” he says, his voice heavy, like it sounds when he first wakes up.

“Yeah, kiddo, I don’t have to—”

“I want you to,” Elliot says, sinking back onto him lazily, looking up at Mr. Robot through his eyelashes. “Come inside me.” Elliot places his hands on Mr. Robot’s chest and starts to move his hips again. Mr. Robot can hardly stifle a groan in response. “Please, Daddy. Fill me up. I wanna be full of you.”

It doesn’t take long after that for Mr. Robot to come, coating the walls of Elliot’s insides with a loud grunt and his hand gripping at the back of Elliot’s neck, holding him close. Elliot moans at the feeling and Mr. Robot swallows it by pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

“You good, kid?” he asks throatily, when they pull apart and both their breathing evens out.

Elliot’s lips flicker up in a flash of something resembling a smile and he nods, his eyes still closed and his lips still poised millimeters above Mr. Robot’s. Mr. Robot strokes a gentle hand along his back in soothing circular motions. The kid looks so goddamn fucked out. The word _divine_ flashes behind Mr. Robot’s eyelids when he blinks.

“You ready to pull out already, or what?” Mr. Robot says, and he’s joking, mostly, but his eyes glaze over when Elliot shakes his head and lets out a soft noise from the back of his throat.

“Just,” Elliot licks his lips and presses his nose into Mr. Robot’s cheek. Mr. Robot can feel Elliot’s voice vibrating against his skin. “Just a little bit. A little bit longer.”

Mr. Robot smiles against Elliot’s temple and lets him rest for a bit before pulling out and rolling Elliot over to lie on his back. Elliot protests and whines the entire time but it’s so feigned Mr. Robot knows he doesn’t have the energy to put up any real kind of a fight. He returns from the bathroom with a washcloth to find Elliot knocked out already, shattered from the day’s activities. He cleans Elliot and himself efficiently before collapsing into bed. He watches Elliot sleep, tracing the shape of his sharp cheekbones with his thumb, and imagines himself drawing his finger back to find it bleeding. When he looks, his finger is clean and unmarked. He stares at Elliot’s face for as long as he can before the demons of exhaustion drag his eyes closed and his focus away from that angel, that Virgin Mary who lies before him, made unclean by his holy hands and a beautiful, devastating five-letter word.


End file.
